A pair of staggered desks flank the entrance, one occupied during most hours by a desk sergeant, and the other rotates between other personnel. In the back is a bank of monitors on the port wall in a 180 degree view. The arc of stacked flatscreens is under the watchful eye of an MP or three during most hours of the day, and recorded for review otherwise. These monitors are visible from the S2's desk (directly across on the starboard wall) and the station set just in front of them. One of the feeds always on display is a feed of the Brig. Other secure areas have been wired in since warday. A Colonial Marine Corps flag hangs proudly in the corner, accompanied by pictures of Marines in action and paintings depicting famous battles of the Cylon War and other actions. An armored door at the far end of the room displays in bright white lettering 'Primary Small Arms,' and holds the main locker for storing the rifles and explosives aboard. A hatch midway through the room leads into the Small Arms Range.

Planted like a very sound weed, Ashe is nestled into a chair with his leg folded in front of him and a rather stoic expression. Almost stoic, but with a slight smirk pulled on his lips as he stares at the wall. If there is anxiety, he certainly doesn't show it.

Eventually the hatch opens, and the S2 steps into the Sec Hub. Ashe has been left to wait for quite a while. She wanders over to drop a folder on her desk, tossing it down with a slap. She leans over to take a seat on the edge of the desk. "Swift."

"Sir." Ashe returns in greeting towards Salazar, keeping his posture and expression the same as it was before.

Salazar tips back slightly to regard the marine. "Is there any particular reason you felt the SAR could use a new paint job, Corporal?" She raises her brows slightly, dark eyes on the young marine.

"Yes sir, there is." Ashe states back towarsd Salazar, levelling his eyes on the young Officer. "Something about the word tugged at me when I was on Solon, Sir. Something about the mindset of One. Unity, of realizing perhaps a focus that has been lost. We are it. We are the species, we have more in common now than any other humans ever have. I just felt it necessary to share this."

"Good evening sir, good evening Corporal," Connor speaks in greeting a few seconds after stepping into security center. His speech is tense to say the least.

Salazar smiles slightly. "That's an interesting thought, Swift." She slides off the corner of her desk before she picks up the cup of coffee on the side. She heads over to grab the pot and pour herself a cup of coffee. "This isn't an art class, Swift. This is war. A military vessel does not need sloppy, if well intentioned decoration." She nods to a bucket of battlestar grey paint near the entrance to the SAR. "Paint over it, would you." It's almost a request, "And save your enthusiasm for PT and cylon killing." She glances over to Connor only after she's finished speaking to Ashe. "PFC."

Ashe looks over at the bucket of paint and then over at Salazar and his hand shakes a little bit. "I tried to. Before Sir." His eyes glance at Connor and he averts attention back to Salazar. "I couldn't. Don't ask me to explain, I can't. I tried my damnedest to bring myself to paint over it and I couldn't."

Connor walks through the room to give himself a better vantage point to sneak a peek at what the fuss is all about. He then turns his attention towards the monitors, drawn towards anything that looks like a schedule.

"I have a meeting in twenty minutes, Swift." Salazar glances at the clock. She returns to her desk and moves around behind her desk to unlock a drawer, remover her sidearm, and slide it into the thigh holster she wears. A couple of folders are slid out as well, and the drawer is locked again. "I don't want to see any red showing when I return from that. The brig isn't too warm this time of year." She picks up her cup of coffee.

"I would suppose not, sir. But I told you, respectfully, I can't. If it means the brig for me then so be it. It's a consequence I'm willing to face for something I believe in with everything I have, sir. I'm sorry." Ashe sighs softly, eyes looking towards the floor.

"Corporal, you're clear on how this is a direct order." The S2 glances over her cup, sipping the coffee. "How it's exceptionally bad for your career, how we're at war, and nobody likes a moron?"

"Yes sir." Ashe states back towards Salazar. "I'm very clear on it. I'm trying to explain to you sir, it isn't from a lack of desire. It's from a literal physical incapability to do it. I cannot explain just, that it is." He swallows, glances at the other present then back towards the S2. "Sir. Every fiber of my being tells me its' what I needed to do. It built up to the point that it was screaming the word over and again in my head. The only way it stopped was to paint that. Maybe I'm cracking at the seams sir, hell, a decent chunk are. It's how I had to express myself."

"Corporal Swift, report to the brig." That's the universal utterance for 'I'm too busy for this'. "Do not speak to the prisoner. The only person you should be talking to other than Major Cass or me is Lieutenant Mimieux. I'll ask her to visit you. Go." She indicates the door with her mug of coffee, and then she heads toward it herself. Meeting. Late for.